A Gangster's wife
by Empty Pen09
Summary: With her career in the toilet a trip to Las Vegas and a drunken night out with an old friend lands Rachel Berry more than she bargained for when she realizes that not only did she marry her old Glee club rival Quinn Fabray but that Quinn is now a stone cold mafia gangster.
1. Chapter 1

Quinn Fabray hadn't changed much. At least not as far as Rachel Berry could tell. Well that wasn't exactly true. As she looked down at Quinn lounging by the Casino pool she noticed her old classmate had covered herself in tattoos. Rachel had never thought of Quinn as a tattoo girl. Quinn was sun dresses and crucifixes. Well she used to be. These days she was black bikinis and tattoos.

Rachel wasn't sure when she'd lost contact with Quinn. One day they talked regularly on the phone and the next they hadn't spoken in years. Surprisingly there hadn't been a big blow up, no massive fight that split their already tentative friendship at the seams. It was a gradual separation, then permanent. It was like Quinn had disappeared off the face of the Earth. She didn't return calls, she didn't respond to emails or Facebook requests, one day she was simply gone. She'd only come back on the radar because Santana happened to be in Russia shooting a horror flick and happened across Quinn in a bar with sketchy looking men in leather jackets. Another few years passed and suddenly Quinn was back in America, living in Brooklyn, and working at a strip club.

When Rachel first heard this she'd almost fainted, she couldn't imagine the old Quinn taking her clothes off for money. Apparently the new Quinn didn't do that. One day when she was feeling unusually generous Rachel poked her head into the club in hopes of talking some sense into her old rival. Instead of finding her naked on stage she found Quinn in the corner of the club getting a lap dance from a bare breasted brunette. Quinn had only smiled when she saw Rachel. It was the same smile she flashed now.

"Rachel, hey!" Quinn said with a flash of teeth and a wave of the hand.

"Quinn, I didn't know you were going to be here." Quinn was lounging in a poolside chair in a two piece bikini that should have made her look sexy but the tattoos ruined the effect. They were scattered over her body. Two large stars on her shoulder blades with matching stars on both knees, a goblin of some kind on her left side and a bird carrying some sort of suitcase or handbag on the right. None of them seemed to make any sense, just a bunch of random images as far as Rachel could tell. Her fingers were even worse, an anarchy symbol on one finger of her right hand, a crucifix on another, with even more tattoos on the left hand, all seemingly random.

"Of course I'm here. It's Las Vegas. I love Las Vegas. Santana called and said you were in trouble and we had to cheer you up," She slid her sunglasses down her nose and looked up at Rachel with a smile. "Besides. I wanted to see you. You don't come to the club and see me anymore."

It had been forever since Rachel visited Quinn at the strip club. As her career took off it became harder and harder for her to sneak away. Especially to go spend some time at a strip club. Still she did miss spending time with Quinn. But their distance wasn't all her fault. Quinn never bothered to come and see any of her shows. She was apparently much too busy getting lap dances from naked women to do that. Still whenever they saw one another it was like no time had passed and Quinn always flirted shamelessly.

"Why should I go out of my way to visit you at that disgusting club? It's been years and you haven't seen any of my shows. Not even my debut."

Quinn pushed her glasses back up and shrugged. "I was doing the Yale thing." Apparently any present day excuse as to why she couldn't spare a couple of hours to see a Broadway show wasn't warranted.

"And now you work at a strip club."

"I OWN a strip club. Several in fact. It's not like I'm working the pole or sweeping the floors."

"You went to Yale. You should have gotten a job on Wall Street or something."

Quinn laughed as if Rachel had made some sort of joke. "Then I wouldn't get to look at naked women at work. Besides that, I didn't like the atmosphere of rich people. A bunch of snobby rich kids with their noses in the air. I ran into a few of them a while back in Manhattan, at a school get together. They actually tried to have me thrown out of the party, those sons of bitches."

Rachel couldn't imagine anyone having enough juice to throw Quinn out of anyplace. Quinn was never the type of girl to be pushed around but these days she kept a mountain of a man named Ekrem by her side. Ekrem was well over six feet tall, Rachel would have guessed seven if asked, and he was built like a brick wall. He had a bald head and a thick neck accompanied by an ever present scowl. He didn't say much but he was always lurking in the shadows. In fact Rachel hadn't seen Quinn without him in years and she could count the number of times she'd heard him speak on one hand. Today he was sitting in the chair beside Quinn in a pair of beach shorts and a plain white tee shirt. His arms, like Quinn's, were also covered in tattoos and Rachel could see a large elaborate scene of some sort on his chest.

"I'm sure your friend here didn't let that happen."

Quinn chuckled then looked at Ekrem with a smile. "Nobody throws us out of anywhere. Isn't that right big guy?"

Ekrem nodded his silent agreement.

"Well I appreciate you flying all the way out here to cheer me up but there isn't anything you guys can do to help me."

Quinn shrugged her shoulders. Rachel had found herself in hot water after a video surfaced on TMZ of her berating some waitress found its way online. Soon after other stories began to surface of her Diva like behavior and temper tantrums. Within a week she was all anyone was talking about. The entire city of New York had turned on her leaving her only recourse as to get out of town for a while until the heat died down. Santana and Brittany had suggested they go to Las Vegas for a while to hide out. Rachel had obliged them out of sheer desperation.

"Where you staying? You in the hotel? I have a suite upstairs if you want to be bunk mates. Ekrem won't mind, his lady friend is very friendly."

Rachel gave Quinn a playful smile but didn't bite. "I'm staying with Brittany and Santana. They have a residence in the tower. I guess they come here a lot."

Quinn only nodded. "Brittany likes to gamble."

That was an understatement. To say Brittany was an addict would be putting it lightly. Rachel had watched her gamble away ten thousand dollars last night in less than an hour like it was nothing. When Rachel told Santana about it she didn't seem to be at all concerned. In fact she'd told Rachel that Brittany knew what she was doing and that they should let her do her thing. She was totally cavalier about the whole thing, a classic enabler.

"She's a degenerate gambler is what she is."

Quinn laughed. "She has a Ph.D. in Mathematics from MIT. Has that ever occurred to you? Did you wonder how they could afford Santana's expansive wardrobe and a multimillion dollar brownstone in Manhattan with a full staff of servants, a house in the Hamptons and a condo in Las Vegas?"

It actually hadn't occurred to Rachel. Santana was an actress but she wasn't an A list actress by any stretch of the imagination. She was the sort of actress you knew when you saw her but couldn't quite remember what her name was. Her forte was B list movies that went straight to video or wound up on cable, and TV guest spots. She likely wasn't making millions of dollars a year. Brittany was a professor at NYU, Rachel wasn't sure how much professors made a year but she doubted it was enough to cover all of their monthly expenses.

"She makes her money in the casinos counting cards. She shows up at one loses a bit, goes to another wins a bit more. She spreads her play out all over the strip so she doesn't draw attention to herself. She gets all the Casinos to comp her play and loses enough so as not to draw anyone's ire. She flies under the radar, and doesn't get greedy. That's where most people get themselves caught. They try and take too much money at once. Brittany goes home with fifty or sixty grand a weekend, spread out over several casinos. What she does takes discipline, something she learned from coach Sylvester. She does alright, makes a good living. It's not an addiction, it's a business. A perfectly calculated business model. Last year she cleared three million dollars. On paper of course she lost five, it was all Casino money but as far as all the casinos know they're taking her to the cleaners. Meanwhile she paid off that fancy house they live in last year and is working on paying off that stupid beach house they overpaid for."

Quinn always bashed Santana and Brittany's place in the Hamptons. Rachel didn't know why she hated it so much and she hadn't bothered to ask but she guessed it had something to do with the fancy parties the people out there threw on a regular basis. The sort of parties she'd never be invited to with her strip clubs, tattoos, and bodyguard. Rachel was a staple in the Hamptons herself but she was a celebrity and celebrities were invited everywhere.

"I didn't realize."

Quinn shrugged. "Why don't you ditch those two and spend the night with me. Come on up to my suite and we can have some fun."

"I don't know. I'm on a tight budget. My show closed and I'm out of work right now and with all this bad press I don't know when I'm going to be able to book another gig." The only thing worse than bad press was bad press when you weren't working. It made it almost impossible to get a new job.

Quinn scoffed. "Did I say anything about spending money? Besides I'm banned from the casino anyway. They put me in that black book they like to threaten everybody with down here. I can't go anywhere near the gambling area or I'll get arrested."

Rachel's eyebrows arched with surprise. "Really, why?"

Quinn shrugged. "You know I have no idea. The moment we got here those assholes from the gaming board stopped us at the front desk and told us we had to leave. I was able to squash that but they told us if we go onto the casino floor we'd be arrested. We were going to just leave and check into another hotel but they told us that it counts for everywhere in Nevada." She shook her head, her eyes still hidden behind her shades. "I think it's some sort of racism thing they got going on. Likely because we're Russian. We should call the ACLU, or those Rainbow Coalition guys with Jessie Jackson." Beside her Ekrem nodded.

"That totally sucks. You should sue," Rachel said firmly.

Quinn shrugged once again. "Maybe. But let's not let them ruin our fun. We should hang out. Just the two of us."

Rachel looked at Ekrem causing Quinn to amend her statement.

"Three of us. It's on me. I have some friends out here. We won't have to pay for anything. It won't cost you a cent."

* * *

Santana was off doing whatever it was Santana did when Brittany hit the casinos and when Rachel stepped into their condo and slipped into their guest room she found herself all alone. She'd planned on spending her night hiding out but Quinn had convinced her to throw caution to the wind and have some fun.

Quinn HAD in fact changed a lot since high school. Her blonde hair was now jet black with blonde tips. Her body was muscular and toned as well as being covered in tattoos. She came off as playful and fun, a far cry from high school Quinn, but Rachel could see that old coldness lurking beneath the surface. She was constantly speaking in another language, Rachel assumed it was Russian but couldn't be sure. And despite always having a wad of hundred dollars bills stuffed in her pocket which she used to tip everyone generously, she never seemed to pay for anything.

Rachel wasn't sure when or why she'd changed so much but she liked the new laid back Quinn. The old Quinn had been cold and mean spirited. Almost evil if Rachel dared say. The new Quinn flirted with her and texted her dirty jokes and inappropriate sexual innuendo. The new Quinn was awesome. It would be fun hanging out with her tonight. It had been years since Rachel let loose and had a good time and tonight she figured would be the perfect way to forget about her problems in New York and get back to the basics. Her new life started tonight.

**The next morning**

Rachel opened her eyes to darkness. The shades in the room were drawn but the pounding in her head made that a blessing. It had been years since she'd gotten drunk. Since high school actually but the memory rushed back to the surface like an old friend. Never again she said as she pushed herself out of bed but she'd said the same thing back then all those years ago and yet here she was.

She stumbled as she rose to her feet leaning down to the bed to steady herself and catching a glimpse of the sleeping figure beside her. Quinn was soundly asleep and the sight of her almost made Rachel smile. Almost. Her mind immediately considered the implications of being in bed beside the woman. A quick glance at her attire made her groan. She was anything but decent. She found herself dressed in a pink lace camisole and from the slight breeze flowing through the room she could tell she wasn't wearing any underwear.

"What the hell?" She muttered to herself. "How drunk did I get last night?"

Sleeping Quinn only sighed.

"You'd think if I was going to go through the trouble of having a one night stand I'd at least have the common sense to remember it."

Sleeping Quinn sighed again and Rachel considered her current state once again. At least she'd pulled out all the stops. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone through so much trouble. She didn't have one night stands but even if she did she didn't imagine she'd go through the trouble of putting on lingerie.

Rachel had sometimes thought about what it would be like to sleep with Quinn. All those years ago back at McKinley she'd often find herself thinking about the cheerleader that way. What it would be like to kiss her lips, run her fingers through her soft blonde hair. Now she'd finally gotten the chance and she couldn't remember a moment of it. She couldn't even remember anything from last night. Drinking dancing and eating then absolutely nothing.

"Well I hope I rocked your world," Rachel said before giving the room a scan for her clothes. She knew it was common place to sneak out before the other party woke up. If the Gods were good Quinn wouldn't remember any of it either and it would be like it never even happened. The thought of that should have made Rachel happy but instead it made her sad.

Rachel took her silent walk of shame back towards the residential wing and slipped into Santana and Brittany's place hoping for privacy. Instead she found them both sitting on the sofa in pajama's watching television.

Their eyes widened with her presence. Brittany was even off her feet and staring in her direction open mouthed. Santana gave her one of her typical smirks.

"Rachel what is going on with you," Brittany asked rushing across the room and grasping Rachel in a tight hug?

It was a strange question but in her current state she figured now was not the time to play cute. It was already after noon and she was obviously wearing last night's clothes. It was only fitting that Brittany would think she was out wandering in the desert sulking.

"I was out last night. With Quinn."

Santana laughed. "No shit."

Brittany gave another tight squeeze before pulling away. "Are you crazy? Why would you do this? You do know who Quinn is don't you?"

"Listen we were drinking and it sounded like fun. We're both consenting adults."

Santana laughed again and this time Brittany shook her head. "You shouldn't have done that Rachel. It's dangerous. She's not the same girl we grew up with. You know that, you have to know that."

Rachel couldn't remember Brittany being this dramatic. It was a one night stand it isn't like she'd pulled a Finn and enlisted in the Army on a whim. Quinn was Russian but she wasn't Vladimir Putin, it wasn't like Rachel had defected to Russia and sold secrets to the enemy.

"It's Quinn, she's not just some stranger. I spent the night with her it's not that serious."

Santana's laughter intensified. "Oh please tell me you were so drunk you don't remember what you did. Please tell me that you have no idea what we're talking about. That only makes this story that much more hilarious."

Brittany furrowed her brow. "You do know what happened last night don't you?"

Santana stifled her laughter and rose to her feet. "Tina Turner doesn't ring a bell? Elvis?"

"What are you guys going on and on about?"

"You and Quinn. Last night you both got drunk and went out and…" Brittany started to say but Santana beat her to the punch.

"You two dumb shits got hitched. Right downtown."

Rachel was so taken aback she didn't realize she was actually laughing. The story was absurd. She didn't get married. Not to Quinn, and especially not at some cheap Las Vegas wedding chapel. When she got married there would be a church, and a dress, and a limo and hundreds of her closest friends. It would be reported in the Post, and People magazine.

"I did not get married. That's insane."

Santana smiled again. "So this was doctored I guess," she said as she walked across the room and extended her cell phone. "I guess it was some hacker who whipped this up on her home computer, found my number online, then sent it to me in the middle of the night along with a text that says, I'm married Bitch."

Santana hit play on the video and Rachel was horrified by what she saw. Herself, drunk. Really drunk. Wearing a skimpy skin tight white dress jumping up and down in front of a woman dressed like Tina Turner and an overweight man dressed as Elvis. Quinn was beside her looking anything but drunk, dressed in a black pant suit that Rachel suspected cost quite a bit of money judging by the way it hung off her with very little effort.

"That's not real," Rachel said doing her best to feign confidence. Deep down where it counted she knew it likely was true. She didn't remember last night but Elvis' Are you Lonesome Tonight had been playing in her head all morning.

Santana snickered. "Of course it isn't true. Because why would you fly all the out to Vegas and marry a girl you've hated forever who just so happens to be gangster? That doesn't sound at all like some stupid thing you'd do. I mean the last time you were engaged you were seventeen and in high school, you're much older and wiser now."

Rachel should have been annoyed by Santana's mean spirited words but somehow over the years she'd grown comforted by them. Nothing anybody ever said could be more hurtful but through the years whenever she needed someone Santana had been close by. She hid the fact that she cared behind mocking and vile comments but in the end she was there when Rachel needed her. She was always there. Sometimes she wished she'd just be quiet but she always told you the truth. Even when it hurt.

"Rachel, you marrying Quinn was stupid," Brittany said softly. "You do know she's a crime boss right?"

It was Rachel's turn to laugh. "She's not a crime boss. She owns a strip club."

"Oh of course she isn't a member of the Russian mafia. She only migrated from Yale to Russia, disappeared off the face of the Earth for years, covered her body in mafia tattoos and according to the internet was sent to the Russian Gulag for dealing drugs and guns before she managed to escape and high tail it back to America. She's wanted in a half a dozen Eastern European countries that don't have extradition treaties with the United States. Well according to Interpol. But you can't believe anything you read on an International Law Enforcement website."

Rachel scoffed. "You can't believe what you read on the internet."

Santana threw her arms in the air in surrender. "Fine," she said before walking away. "We'll do it your way Mrs. Fabray."

"Everybody knows women can't join the mafia," Rachel said with more feigned confidence.

"Which should make you wonder what it is that she did that made them accept her. Her nickname on the internet is The Frozen Tuna. Which sounds sort of sexist if you ask me," Santana added.

"I heard she killed people in Russia Rachel. She's not the same girl. She's totally scary. I mean scarier than she's always been. I'm not even sure how she knew we were coming here. She just called us up and said she was coming with us. She's crazy," Brittany said her voice almost a whisper.

"She's not crazy, she's criminally insane. With the emphasis on criminal," Santana said with a smirk.

Rachel opened her mouth to speak but the door pushed open and Quinn walked in followed by her hulking bodyguard. She was dressed in a pair of flannel pants and a robe and looked as if she'd just crawled out of bed but her eyes were wide awake.

"Rachel you can't just wander off. It's not safe. Ekrem is getting a guy to look after you but until then you have to stick close to me." She looked Rachel over closely before her eyes narrowed into little slits. "Why aren't you wearing your ring?"

"I, I," Rachel began to stammer.

Quinn shook her head. "That's unacceptable Rachel. My wife always wears her ring." She walked over to Rachel and grabbed her by the elbow. It was gentle but it still felt controlling and demanding. "Now let's go back to our room. Santana and Brittany need their privacy."

Rachel watched Brittany retreat to the sofa besides Santana and Rachel for the first time saw the fear in her eyes. Even Santana who usually would use the opportunity to tease her or chime in with some mean comment had clammed up.

"Okay," was all Rachel could think to say. She got the distinct impression that nothing she said would have made a bit of difference anyway. She was married to a gangster and apparently she didn't get a vote.


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel's opinion didn't matter. She understood _that_ the moment Quinn led her back into the hotel suite by the elbow and suggested, with a firm tone, that she get dressed. Rachel wanted to be defiant but she wasn't in the mood to fight. Ekrem had already given her a stern glare after Quinn chewed him out for letting her sneak out of the suite. Now with all the tension in the air she figured now was just as good a time as any to attempt to get along.

After getting dressed Quinn slipped a gold band on Rachel's finger and instructed her not to take it off. Normally this would be the sort of thing that drew fire and rage from Rachel but today wasn't one of those days. Quinn's commanding presence was enough to melt away Rachel's defiance with barely a glance.

"Are we ever going to talk about last night?" Rachel had been looking for a way to broach the subject of their drunken Vegas marriage but no time seemed quite right.

Quinn looked at her with a blank expression, her feelings masked by years of fake smiles and empty glances across a filled choir room.

"What about it?"

It seemed a silly question. What about it? It was as if Quinn had married a half a dozen drunk girls in ceremonies officiated by Elvis. She didn't seem to see any of it as a big deal. Getting drunk and hitched in a wild Vegas night on the town must be par for the course in her life. Rachel on the other hand expected to find a tiger in the bathroom and a stolen police car parked in valet.

"We got married. That doesn't concern you?"

Quinn shrugged. "Not really. We're in love, people in love get married."

Rachel almost laughed. In love? They barely spoke to one another. At least face to face. Getting married hadn't even been on her radar. Least of all getting married to Quinn. Quinn was fun, and cool, and take charge, but she wasn't marriage material. Especially if what Santana said about her was true.

"You're joking right? We haven't even been out on a date. You can't just skip from step one to the finish line."

Quinn's attention had shifted from Rachel to the hotel room floor. Something had caught her attention and despite the pressing business of marriage vows Quinn got down on her hands and knees and examined the carpet.

"Does this floor have a hole in it?"

Rachel's mind began to spin. "Are you kidding? Quinn we're married. Shouldn't we be talking about what we're going to do about it? I mean should we get it annulled?"

Quinn looked up at her from her spot on the carpet, her bright green eyes burning a hole through Rachel's soul. She rose up from the floor and closed the distance between them with barely a shuffle of her feet.

"What?" Quinn asked firmly.

There was ice in her voice and Rachel felt a twinge of something in her belly. Something that felt dangerously like fear. Was she afraid? Of Quinn? She pushed the thought out of her mind. Quinn wouldn't hurt her. Would she?

"I said should we get it annulled?"

Quinn sneered but instead of rearing back and decking Rachel in the mouth, which she sort of expected, Quinn changed gears.

"Why would we want to do that?" She took a few steps backwards and began to reexamine the floor. "This floor has a hole in it."

Rachel forced herself not to look down at the carpet. The floor did not have a hole in it. How could it? If it did they would fall through it.

"The floor's fine Quinn, can we talk about our marriage."

Quinn pried her attention away from the floor and looked at her with a smile that somehow set everything in her mind at ease. "Our marriage is fine. My friends are even throwing us a party tonight. I need you to go get a nice dress for it though. Something expensive to show everyone how well I take care of you." She dug into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. She began to leaf through it before deciding against it and extending the whole stack to Rachel. If Rachel had to guess there had to be thousands of dollars there.

"Quinn I," She began to say but Quinn cut her off.

"I think that should be enough. If it isn't charge it to this." She dug into the breast pocket of her black blazer and pulled out a credit card. Rachel extended her hand to take it but when her eyes brushed over the cardholder's name she realized it wasn't Quinn's. Instead it belonged to someone named Mary Comforti.

"Who's Mary" Comforti."

Quinn shook her head. "She's a friend of mine. She lets me use her card sometimes when I take trips. She likes to save up her points to earn free trips to see her grandkids in Florida. I'm helping her out."

The words rolled off her tongue with ease but Rachel didn't like the sound of them. They sounded too cool, too rehearsed. She remembered Quinn's story about being banned from the casino for absolutely no reason. That, it seemed, was a lie. If Quinn was in fact a gangster like Santana alleged she'd be automatically banned from the gaming areas. All gangsters were.

"Are you in the mafia?" Rachel wasn't sure what made her ask the question but she didn't back down once the words were out of her mouth. "The internet says you're in the mafia."

Quinn's attention shifted back to the floor. "You should pack your things before you go, we're switching rooms. There's a hole in this floor."

* * *

Armed with a wad of hundred dollar bills and Mary Comforti's credit card Rachel left the room a little after two in the afternoon to go shopping. She'd attempted to broach the dual subjects of Quinn's profession and their drunken marriage but Quinn had become obsessed with the imaginary hole in the floor of the hotel room. She'd even gone so far as to call in Ekrem to investigate. When Rachel left the suite they'd practically torn the entire room apart looking for holes. The whole thing had gotten so strange Rachel had begun to worry about Quinn's sanity.

To Quinn's credit she didn't seem to be the least bit disturbed. Sure she was unusually accepting of their Vegas nuptials, but that didn't make her crazy. Just spontaneous. Quinn had treated the whole thing as if were a normal occurrence and that somehow put Rachel's mind at ease. Sure it couldn't last, but it was fun for a while. Being a wife. Even if it was to a gangster obsessed with imaginary holes in the floor.

Ekrem had stayed with Quinn but a man named Ivan had attached himself to Rachel's hip for her shopping trip. He wasn't quite as big as Ekrem but he wasn't small by any stretch of the imagination. His scowl was hard enough to cut diamonds and his biceps were the size of mountains. Like Ekrem he didn't speak but Rachel assumed that was part of the job description.

Rachel had been famous for a few years but in that time she'd never seen the need to have a bodyguard. New York was a big place and despite the tourists nobody ever admitted to being excited about anything. On the streets people didn't look other people in the eyes and if they did they wouldn't acknowledge they knew who you were unless you were friends or family. Having a bodyguard seemed like a waste of money and effort.

Apparently married life came with different rules because Quinn wouldn't let Rachel out of her sight without having a large tattooed man by her side. Rachel again hadn't bothered to protest. If Quinn was footing the bill what difference did it make? Besides, she wanted to go shopping and having Ivan tag along was the only way to make that happen.

Anybody who was anybody shopped at the Bellagio so Rachel and her new escort stepped outside at the valet looking to hail a cab to the upscale casino. It was mid-summer, too hot to wander around the desert and much too uncomfortable to walk. Casinos were always busy places but the valet area was unusually busy today. The moment Rachel stepped foot outside the casino the action started.

A man in a straw hat swung an expensive camera in her face, then another man did the same, and another, and another, and before she realized what was going on she'd been swarmed by paparazzi. Her heart leapt to her throat as the mass of flash bulbs went off in her eyes and temporarily blinded her.

The questions came like machine gun bullets. Fast and without any particular target in mind. Rachel had been a celebrity for years but she was New York famous, which everybody knew was different from Hollywood famous. She wasn't stalked by paparazzi, or mentioned on Access Hollywood. That wasn't her reality. In Vegas she hadn't been recognized once. It was always like that outside the city. She was a big deal in New York but outside her base of operations she was practically a nobody, a face in the crowd. Well she had been before now. Now there were two dozen photographers screaming her name and yelling questions at her.

Ivan took offense to the crowd and when the overly ambitious photographer with the straw hat stepped too close Ivan decked him in the face with a punch that would have leveled even the toughest guys out there. The photographer's camera went flying, landing on the pavement and smashing into a million pieces. His straw hat floated breezily into a line of parked cars before finding a resting place on the hood of a black Lexus. The photographer himself crumbled like a paper bag and collapsed in a heap on the ground. Ivan said something in Russian that Rachel didn't understand but followed it up with broken English.

"Back up. Don't touch," the big man said gruffly. The punch and forceful demand immediately cleared Rachel six feet of walking room in all directions and the absurdity of it all brought the hint of a smile to Rachel's face. Instead of reveling in the moment she decided action was necessary and the old Broadway rule came to mind. The show must go on. Shake it off and keep on going.

"Let's get a taxi. I feel like shopping Ivan."

Ivan only nodded his response. If he didn't look like a professional boxer Rachel would almost consider asking the guy to hold her purse. She didn't imagine he would, he'd probably scowl and say something nasty in Russian but she would love to see the look on his face.

Rachel took a few steps forward and the crowd of photographers parted like the Red Sea. A wad of cash to spend on shopping, a burly man to clear a path through paparazzi, being married to Quinn surely had some perks.

* * *

Quinn's insistence that they switch rooms was apparently sincere because when Rachel made it back to the hotel they were on the other side of the building two floors up. Whatever had happened when she was gone had put Quinn in a better mood because the moment Rachel slipped into the suite's bedroom Quinn wrapped strong arms around her waist and pulled her close.

"Did you get something nice?"

Rachel had spent a small fortune at the Bellagio shop. Since Quinn hadn't been specific about exactly what sort of party they were going to she felt the need to play it safe and get more than one thing. Quinn hadn't exactly given her a spending limit and judging by the way she'd thrown a wad of money at her earlier Rachel wouldn't expect she'd mind much.

"I found something nice. A few things actually."

Quinn slipped a hand underneath Rachel's shirt and ran her fingers along her stomach. The contact made her skin burn and as if someone had lit her on fire a drop of sweat slipped quickly down the center of her back.

"But you're happy?"

Rachel sighed, more out of contentment than anything else. "Yes. I spent a bunch of Mary's money though."

"Mary doesn't mind. I'll make sure she gets her money back. From now on don't think about things like that. How much things costs, who's going to pay for what. Just let me worry about it. From now on just hand me the bills and I'll see that they get paid." Rachel felt Quinn's other hand slide under her shirt. "I just need to know we're in this together. I need to know that you aren't going to take off and run down to Santana and Brittany's when I fall asleep. I need to know you aren't going to bring up words like annulment again."

Rachel nodded. "I won't. I promise. I'm in this. I know it was unconventional but I think I can do it. I think we should try." She wasn't sure when she'd decided she wanted to try. Somewhere between the punch and the shopping spree she supposed.

Quinn's hands slid slowly up Rachel's shirt towards her breasts. "We either do it or we don't. If you want out you have to tell me now because once we leave this hotel and go to this party with my friends there is no out. Once they meet you you're family and once you're family you're always family."

Rachel's body shivered when Quinn's hands gently cupped her breasts. Her entire body tingled and every nerve in her system sparked at once. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. The moment she'd dreamed about all those years ago in glee club. Not some drunken night in sleazy lingerie. Instinct made her arch her back and twist her head in Quinn's direction and her wife's lips were waiting for her when she did. But the kiss was quick. Fleeting.

"I have a meeting to go to. It's not the sort of thing I can brush off. But tonight. Tonight is going to be special."

Rachel pulled away and steeled her nerves. It had been less than twenty four hours. Way too early on to start being the needy wife. Instead she offered a brave nod.

"I understand."

Quinn laughed. "You don't understand. I can tell. You don't have to lie to me. If you're angry then you have to be honest with me. My parents always lied to each other about their feelings. That's why they ended up getting a divorce. Lies. We don't do lies in this relationship Mrs. Fabray."

Mrs. Fabray. Rachel hadn't thought about that. Her name. Would she change it? Clearly Quinn thought she would but Rachel wasn't so sure. It was a big step. Professionally it would be a big deal. People knew her as Rachel Berry. Nobody would know who Rachel Fabray was.

"We need to talk about my name. What I'm going to do. I think I may keep it."

Quinn threw her for loop when she gave her body another squeeze and killed the impending tension with a quick knife thrust. "Of course you should keep your stage name. Rachel Berry is a brand. It doesn't mean anything to us, not in real life. Use it for work if you want. As long as you legally take my name I don't care about the other stuff." It wasn't the sort of answer Rachel was expecting from Quinn, but somehow in the back of her mind she wasn't surprised. She didn't care, only she did.

"Okay," was all Rachel could say. "Speaking of secrets."

Quinn pulled away suddenly serious. "We don't lie to each other but there are rules about you asking questions. What do you really care what I do anyway right? I mean it's not like I'm knocking over 7-11's. Nobody gets killed or anything. I mean it's not like I'm smuggling teenage girls into the country and stealing their passports or something."

That was the only thing Rachel knew about the Russian mafia. Young naive girls being tricked into coming to America for a better life only to have their passports stolen and forced into working demeaning jobs. Usually in strip clubs.

Rachel was suddenly appalled. "You're not one of those people who forces women into prostitution are you? Because that's a deal breaker."

Quinn kissed Rachel gently on the neck. "Of course not. My girls are all American and they're all there willingly. Ask them if you want. I'm a woman Rachel, I'd never force another woman into doing something she doesn't want to do. I'm not a monster."

Rachel sighed. "Just a notorious gangster."

"Just a gangster. Not even a notorious gangster. And to answer your question from earlier today about the mafia. No I'm not in the mafia. We don't call it that. I have trusted friends and comrades that I work with but that's all I can say. And only because you're my wife. But you can't repeat that."

Rachel suddenly wondered who she was expected to tell. Were they worried she'd give an interview to 60 Minutes? Talk to the cops? A laundry list of ideas floated through her head. Her parents. Quinn's parents. Her friends. Who exactly knew what?

"Who am I going to tell?"

Quinn reached out and gave her bottom a pinch. "Nobody if you know what's good for you."

* * *

When Rachel saw herself on TV she was almost excited. Almost. Once the newscaster started speaking she immediately changed her mind. Rachel hadn't actually made it to TV much in her career. She was a BROADWAY star, the New York stage hadn't lent itself to much TV work over the years. Not for her or most of her contemporaries, even the famous ones like herself didn't spend much time on TV. It was common knowledge that most stage plays didn't lend themselves well to film. There were a few smash hits, Grease, Chicago. But for every one of those there were ten films like The Women or Spinning into Butter, classic stage plays that didn't play well for the screen.

Rachel had to admit she looked great on TV but the moment Ivan punched the photographer and she saw herself smile then dismissively step over him on the ground and keep walking without breaking her pace she knew she was in trouble. The headline of the segment had been snazzy, The Gangster's wife, and that snazzy title had given Rachel the impression they were going to go easy on her. She couldn't have been more wrong.

The host had made special mention of Rachel's cavalier attitude when it came to a man who'd just had his lights punched out in front of her. Even going so far as to freeze frame the film to point out the smile on her face. When it was over with Rachel had looked like a complete lunatic. And Quinn was made out to be public enemy number one. If people hadn't hated her before they were sure to hate her now.

"Damn vultures," Rachel said as she snapped the TV off and forced herself to get out of bed and get herself decent for Quinn's party. From the sound of it she'd be able to put her mounting professional problems behind her and have a good time. This time without the surprise wedding.

**So it's me, back with another strange tale of twisted love between Rachel and Quinn. I don't know why I always feel the need to make one or both of them screwed up but I find it more fun when they aren't perfect but find their way to each other anyway. Besides waiting for them to get together on the show seems futile. So I've been gone from the site for a while, searching for my writer's groove. I can't say enough how strange it is to get so many reviews and favorites, it's flattering and I love you all for it. Truthfully though I actually just stumbled across this idea while watching an episode of Las Vegas, two characters got drunk and woke up hitched and something in my mind said Quinn and Rachel should do that, and I typed the whole thing out right then and there. I'll keep writing if you'll keep reading and I'll do my best to make my uploads timely as usual. Enjoy and again thanks for reading. ~Empty Pen~**


	3. Chapter 3

"So I tell you your wife's a gangster and your solution is to go hang out with all of her gangster friends," Santana shook her head with what Rachel assumed was annoyance. She'd been harping on the gangster thing since Rachel had poked her head into the room. She was almost starting to regret coming down. At least if Brittany were here Rachel could find a way to change the subject but she was back at the blackjack tables counting cards and making money, or losing money depending on what her plan was.

"Look, Quinn isn't a gangster. It's all a big misunderstanding." Rachel had been trying out different things in her head. Lies to tell the people close to her that would explain why she was in a relationship with someone with such an unsavory reputation. Nothing seemed to work, not even when she did her best to delude herself. She thought it best to instead just give the company line.

"There is no mafia."

Santana laughed. "That's what we're going with? There is no mafia? The FBI will be more than happy to disagree with you. I mean it's not like they're not lingering around here someplace."

Rachel hadn't seen anybody that even remotely looked like an FBI agent. Quinn had said she might and that if they spoke to her she should simply ignore them and tell her right away. Rachel wouldn't suspect this would be a problem but what did she know?

"Can we talk about something else please?"

Santana ran her fingers through her long black hair and gave Rachel a half scowl. "Fine, we can talk about the video of you on TMZ. The NEW video posted earlier today of your bodyguard punching a guy out in front of two dozen witnesses and you laughing about it."

"That was a misunderstanding. It was taken completely out of context," Rachel said halfheartedly.

"Oh, because I thought you got a kick out of it. Good thing it was just a misunderstanding."

The video was getting lots of hits on the internet and within a few hours was sure to go viral. There was nothing Rachel could do to combat it now. First the barista video and now this. According to the world she was a monster.

"It's not like I told him to punch that guy. Everybody is so damn sensitive all of a sudden."

"Maybe you should send him some flowers or something." Santana, despite her mean streak was a pro at damage control. With her fiery Latin temper and over all mean streak she had to be good at mitigating the damage her poor behavior caused her. "I mean if he sues or presses charges things will go from bad to worse."

That was a good idea, Rachel had to admit. Ivan had in fact broken his camera. Maybe she should replace it and send it to him. That would show the world she wasn't all bad. That couldn't be turned against her.

* * *

"I took care of it. Don't worry about that reporter. I replaced his camera. He won't be a problem. I bet he'll want to just put the whole thing behind him as soon as possible," Quinn smiled that golden smile of hers. "He probably just wants to move on with his life. I doubt he'll even be a problem."

Rachel wanted to ask questions but knew better than to put herself in that position. Quinn had said asking questions just created issues. It was always better to sit back and enjoy the ride. It was nothing more than manipulation, Rachel knew that much, but it was still correct. Knowing too much never did anyone any good.

"Are you sure your friends will like me?"

Quinn nodded with confidence.

"Just be yourself. You have a strong personality and everybody knows it. You don't have to lay it on thick or anything but feel free to be yourself. You're famous after all," Quinn had whispered the words into her ear but Rachel felt as if the entire world could hear them.

"I don't want to embarrass you."

Quinn pulled her close and gave her neck a gentle kiss. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Everybody will love you."

Rachel doubted that. Lately everybody had been annoyed by her. One minute she was a happy, famous, financially stable Broadway star, and the next she was hated by everybody. One mishap with a barista and the entire world had turned on her. Never mind the fact that the idiot had put whole milk in her latte instead of skim. Rachel had made a big point of it and the moron had nodded along like she was paying attention but instead had just put in the first milk she could grab. When Rachel complained she'd been told to chill out, which incensed her and sent her off on a rant. In typical fashion the cell camera taping the incident had only recorded her rant and suddenly she was public enemy number one.

"This isn't what I would have expected," Rachel admitted. When she'd heard the word party she expected something in a bar like in the movies. In the gangster movies she'd watched through the years the parties were always at someone's house or at some bar owned by somebody close. This party was taking place in an upscale restaurant off the strip.

"A friend of mine owns this place. He's letting us use it tonight. We'll have the whole thing to ourselves. Lots of food and wine. I even had him create a list of vegan dishes for you to choose from."

Rachel wasn't surprised at all by Quinn's attention to detail. She didn't miss a trick. "Thank you."

Quinn ran a finger down Rachel's cheek and gave her wink. "Don't get too drunk tonight. I'm gonna want sex later." Before Rachel had a chance to respond Quinn was stepping out of the car and adjusting her jacket.

What was she supposed to say to that? I'm gonna want sex later? How incredibly unromantic.

* * *

Quinn's friends consisted of tattooed men and young beautiful women in skimpy dresses and expensive jewelry. The men were more than a mere stereotype. All of them were in fact Russian, but some were tall, some short, some skinny, some fat, all covered in tattoos and all with a woman on their arm that looked extremely high maintenance.

Quinn introduced her to everyone but she couldn't remember any of their names. They all knew her name without having to be told but after an initial introduction none of the men spoke to her at all. Rachel thought for a moment that she had done something wrong but after a few minutes of taking in her surroundings she'd began to notice it wasn't just her.

The men in the room had a pattern. Each man focused his attention on one specific woman in the room who the other men promptly ignored. Quinn and she fit this pattern causing Rachel to deduce that the group had some sort of rule against socializing with the women of other guys. It was a question for later.

A tall skinny blonde with striking blue eyes and model looks, Ekrem's girl, introduced herself to Rachel as Mina. Her dress was short, too short for Rachel's taste but undoubtedly expensive. There was a diamond necklace dangling between her cleavage, and from the looks of it the thing cost a fortune. She gave Rachel a polite smile then arched a suspicious eyebrow.

"So how did you lock that one down?" Mina's accent was thick and Russian, a fact that didn't surprise Rachel at all. She seemed to be the only one here who wasn't from Russia besides Quinn.

Rachel shrugged. The true story was likely sort of embarrassing. Getting married in Las Vegas was nothing to be ashamed of, it just wasn't the most romantic story to tell your friends.

"We've been dancing around it for a while. Last night we just started having fun and decided it was the time. It's true alcohol was involved but what's a girl to do?"

Mina laughed. "I should have made Ekrem bring me with. He offered but I wanted to see Celine Dion instead. Maybe if I had gone we'd both be new brides." She tilted her head with contemplation. "It doesn't matter how you get the ring, once you marry them they never get a divorce."

Rachel nodded not sure what else to say.

"How long have you been together?" It seemed a fair question, a safe question.

"For almost one year. Ekrem moved me into his place last month, I cook and clean and do the job of a wife and enjoy all the perks but it's not official. Some of the men don't want to be married. This is silly of course because Clev has been with his woman for nearly thirty years but they never married. They have four children they raised together and yet no ring."

Rachel assumed Clev was the white haired gentlemen everyone seemed to be fawning over. If he was anybody he was the boss. He'd introduced himself to her by name, admired her ring but walked away just as quickly. Now all of the men, and Quinn, had retreated to one side of the restaurant while the women chatted on the other. It reminded Rachel of a junior high school dance.

"How many of the girls do have the ring?"

Mina shrugged. "There are three of you." There were at least a dozen women in the room. "The ones with guys who are American Russians, like your Quinn, they like to marry. The guys born in Russia, like my Ekrem, they don't marry. She's from Idaho, but she's Russian."

"Ohio." Rachel corrected her.

Mina nodded. "Right. Lima Bean Ohio."

Rachel almost laughed but thought it might be considered rude.

"You live in New York?"

Mina nodded. "Little Odessa. We all live in Little Odessa."

Rachel almost groaned. Brooklyn? Quinn couldn't possibly expect her to move out of her Manhattan condo into some place in Brooklyn. Surely that was asking a little bit much.

"Everybody?"

Mina shrugged. "It's where we're all from. Don't worry. Now that you're starting a new life with Quinn she'll buy you a new place. A nice place. You get anything you want. The men are very proud this way. She'll buy you a house and let you make it a home for the both of you. Anything you want, she'll pay."

That didn't surprise Rachel at all. Quinn had said as much earlier when she'd gone shopping. Don't worry about how much things costs or who pays for anything, she'd said. Still it was a strange thing to be told.

"I don't need all that much. A job maybe, that's it."

Mina's brow crinkled. "You don't have to work. Not anymore. Anything you want she'll get. We keep busy with other things. Everyday it's something different. We get up and make breakfast for the boys, get the children ready for school, then we go and exercise, every day exercise. Then we shop, or play cards. Sometimes we do something special. Take the children to the museum, or in the summer we go to the beach. Go home make dinner, and the next day we do it again. It's not a bad life. Nobody works."

That didn't sound encouraging at all. Rachel couldn't imagine her life without performing. She'd spent her life trying to get to Broadway and now that she was there she wasn't going to willingly give it up. On the other hand at the rate things were going she may not actually have a choice.

* * *

Rachel inched closer to Quinn extricating herself expertly from the casual small talk and idle chatter she'd been exposed to with the other women. The lives of the other women seemed to revolve around the men in their lives. They woke up in the morning and made them breakfast then got them on their way, afterwards they kept themselves busy all day while waiting for them to come home.

She couldn't imagine living her life that way. She'd been keeping herself busy for years in New York. Making it on Broadway wasn't a walk in the park. It wasn't like any other job in the world. It meant being on stage in front of an audience six days a week, twice a day on the weekends. She didn't have time to sit around and wait for anybody. She definitely didn't get up early and make anyone breakfast. It occurred to her that of all the conversations a couple should have before getting married, expectations about work and lifestyle were the most important. If Quinn wanted a wife who would wait on her hand and foot she was in for a cruel surprise.

Rachel found Quinn sitting at a table engrossed deep in conversation with Clev. Both of them were leaning forward and speaking in hushed tones but Rachel had always been blessed with superb hearing. It was one of the perks of being a world class talent. Excellent pitch, hearing, and diction.

"I've got seven people working full time now but I think that may be as much as we should do. It takes me forever to find the right person. Most people are greedy. They'd rather get a large payday once than a thousand small ones over the course of a few years." Quinn sighed and sipped her drink. "I used that guy Karl sent to me, Evan, and he got caught the first day because he didn't do what he was told. He thought he knew best and he put everything at risk. I had to let him go. Karl won't be happy."

Rachel watched Clev nod. "I'll take care of Karl. As for the other thing I agree with you. We keep it small, quiet. Between Las Vegas and Atlantic City we're making quite a bit of money. I don't want to risk that by trying to push some new kid we can't trust through. What about your Professor friend, does she have anything else to offer us," Clev asked?

Quinn shrugged. "No. Not that I can tell. It took some threating to get the full scam out of her but once she talked she told me everything. I promised her it wouldn't land on her if things went sour. I want to isolate her as much as possible and leave her to her business. She taught me how to make money, and she's an old friend. Unless she becomes a problem I say we forget she ever existed. "

Clev nodded again. "Understood. Nobody knows about her but the two of us and she doesn't know about me. She'll be safe." Rachel watched as he gave Quinn's shoulder a pat and pushed himself away from the table. She diverted her attention back to the room as he sauntered away and as he slipped past back towards his lady friend he gave Rachel a polite smile.

"Rachel hey, come and sit down for a minute," Quinn said as she gave the chair a push with her foot. Rachel didn't hesitate to sit down and for the first time tonight allowed herself to exhale. "You having a good time?"

"I'm having fun," Rachel said quickly. A little too quickly for Quinn's tastes because she frowned.

"You're not having a good time? Why not? This whole party is for us. Is somebody not being nice?"

Everybody had been extremely friendly but Rachel got the impression that if somebody had been behaving badly telling Quinn wouldn't have been a good idea. Brittany had made a point of telling her that Quinn wasn't the same girl they had gone to school with back in Lima. That it turns out was a very accurate description. When Quinn had seen the video of Ivan punching the photographer instead of getting angry about an overuse of force she commented on how photogenic Rachel was.

"I'm having an okay time. I just heard from Mina that none of the girls work. Some of them aren't allowed to."

Quinn snickered. "They don't want jobs. Their jobs are keeping their stomachs flat for beach season. Those women don't want to work Rachel. If they did the guys would find them jobs to keep them happy. But this way they can use the guys as an excuse to spend their entire day working out and shopping."

Quinn grabbed her hand and pulled it to her mouth for a kiss. Rachel wanted to believe her but there was something about the way she smiled when the words escaped her lips. Coolly, calmly and without effort, that gave her the creeps. Everything that came out of her mouth was like a speech she'd rehearsed in her head a hundred times. It was believable and plausible but Rachel didn't believe it. Instead of saying anything about it she decided now was not the time to question her. Not in front of her friends.

"I'm not quitting my job," Rachel said firmly. "Well when I get one I won't quit to make you eggs in the morning. You should know me well enough to not expect it."

"I don't want you to quit. Did I say that? I even found a theatre for you. I want you to have your own show in your own theatre. It's off Broadway but it's one of the big off Broadway stages. You can come up with a show or you can hire the best in the business to write one for you."

Rachel's head was spinning. Her own show? How could Quinn manage to pull that off? Stages on and off Broadway were incredibly difficult to come by. And shows were expensive to produce and terribly hard to predict the success of.

"What stage? You can't just strong arm someone into giving me a stage Quinn."

Quinn smiled. A big confident smile that said yes she could in fact strong arm someone into giving her a stage to produce a show. It should have been silly and implausible but coming from Quinn it sounded somewhat plausible. She seemed to have a knack for getting things done. She always had.

"It's all set up. Eighty seats, intimate, you set your own schedule, everything is all worked out. All you have to do is show up and perform. Don't worry about anything else. We'll get you a staff, hire you a producer who'll keep you happy, anything you need. I don't anticipate you'll have any problems. We've accounted for all contingencies."

Rachel knew what contingencies meant on Broadway. It meant despite what happened on stage you had to prepare for the inevitable possibility that nobody would come and see the show. There was no way to account for that. If nobody wanted to see you then nobody wanted to see you. You couldn't afford to operate a show if nobody cared to watch it.

"Short of pouring good money after bad there's no way to account for that," Rachel said with a raised eyebrow.

"What did I say? Let me worry about who pays for stuff. You just do what you do best."

* * *

Quinn decided her bed clothes should consist of men's boxer shorts and a white sleeveless tee-shirt and Rachel couldn't find a reason to complain. It was masculine on her but despite her tattoos and muscled frame she still looked sexy in it.

Rachel had picked up something special for the occasion while she was shopping earlier. A sheer black lace bra with matching panties. Her plan to take a quick shower and slip into them was thwarted by Quinn when she climbed into the shower right along with Rachel and commenced to fondling her instead of washing.

They had sex right there in the shower with Rachel's back pressed against cold wet tiles and Quinn's hands and mouth exploring every part of her body. There were many ways Rachel envisioned tonight ending and sex in the shower wasn't one of them. Somehow something that wasn't even an afterthought an hour ago had cemented itself in her brain as the benchmark for sex in her mind.

Now Quinn was lounging around in bed watching her brush her hair. She hadn't spoken since she'd climbed into bed but by the way she was watching her Rachel knew she wasn't finished yet.

"You look like you want to say something," Rachel teased as she ran her brush through her hair.

"I want you to say something," she said with that cute smirk that all of a sudden was driving Rachel crazy every time she saw it.

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"My name. Over and over again." She chuckled lightly to herself but the smile disappeared almost immediately. "I want to make a life with you Rachel Berry. I want that life to start right here, right now. In this bed, together. I want us to be together but in order for that to happen you need to trust me. My life isn't easy but the two of us together, we can make it work. And who knows. One day I may even surprise you."

Rachel laughed. "Oh you've been surprising me for years Mrs. Fabray."

"Well Mrs. Fabray why don't you put on that little outfit you bought for me and climb into bed."

"You gonna let me put it on this time or are you going to jump my bones again?"

Quinn shrugged. "I haven't decided yet."

Rachel stood up and walked towards the bathroom to get dressed only to have Quinn throw her a curveball that made her skin crawl.

"I need you to buy a black dress before we go back to New York. One of the guys I know died. His name was Evan, somebody shot him. I just got word this afternoon, the funeral's Wednesday. We have to go, it's important we show our support."

Her cool calm words sent a shiver down Rachel's spine.


	4. Chapter 4

Brittany gave Ivan a careful look before leaning across the table and whispering to Rachel. "Can we talk in private?" It was a futile effort, Ivan wasn't deaf, just Russian. He had heard every word and Rachel was pretty sure he knew exactly what it was Brittany was saying.

Rachel gave Ivan a smile then turned her attention back to Brittany. "In order for Ivan to provide me adequate protection we have to trust one another. Nothing we say is in danger of being repeated. My Ivan is not a stool pigeon." Rachel looked back to Ivan with a smile. "Right Ivan?"

Ivan nodded as he spooned a bit of oatmeal into his mouth. "Right. Trust circle," he said with a muffle as he pointed to himself then to Rachel.

Rachel gave Brittany a confident smile. "See. Circle of trust."

Brittany rolled her eyes but didn't argue.

"Well are we ever going to talk about this marriage of yours?"

Rachel sipped her glass of orange juice. "You sound my like my dads. I got married I didn't join a convent."

Ivan chuckled but continued on with his oatmeal.

"Maybe we're worried about you. Did it occur to you that this is completely out of character for you? You just went to Vegas and got married. People don't actually do that in real life."

Rachel shrugged. "People elope all the time."

"People who are dating. Not people who barely speak to one another."

"Quinn and I speak every day. Sure it's mostly through texts but this is the millennium, this is how our generation talks to one another."

Rachel knew she was working with a thin rope but she wasn't going to let Brittany rain on her parade. She liked Quinn and sure she didn't plan on getting married this weekend but now that she was she was determined to make it work. It wasn't like her dance card was full these days anyway. Her last relationship had ended almost a year ago and there hadn't been anybody serious in her life since Finn died all those years ago.

"I thought if anybody would be on my side it would be you Brittany. You were the one person I was sure would understand where I'm coming from."

Brittany's face scrunched. "Why would you think I would understand?"

Rachel sighed. "Well, because of Santana."

This seemed to strike some sort of chord with Brittany. "What ABOUT Santana?"

Rachel shrugged doing her best not to sound judgmental. "Well Santana isn't the nicest person in the world Brittany. I don't know if you've ever noticed."

The confused look on her face told Rachel that Brittany hadn't noticed. She seemed shocked by the revelation. Rachel didn't quite understand how this could be news to her seeing as how Brittany had been witness to all of Santana's shenanigans over the years.

"Santana is a sweetheart. She treats me like a princess. She always has. Even when we were little."

Rachel laughed. That had always been the case. Rachel had known Santana and Brittany for years but she'd never seen them have so much as a disagreement. She was sure they fought like every other couple but after having been friends for nearly fifteen years she just hadn't ever seen it.

"She treats YOU like a princess because she loves you. But she's mean to everyone else. And that's putting it nicely. But that's the beauty of it. You don't care because you love her and you know she loves you. So you don't care what anybody else thinks of it."

Brittany's eyes tightened. "Can you tell me that you love her? Without a doubt, love her."

Rachel nodded. "Of course I do. She's my wife."

Ivan sipped his coffee. "Mrs. Rachel will make a good wife for Quinn. She's ready to settle down. Mrs. Rachel will be good for her. Quinn smiles all the time now. She's very happy."

Hearing that almost made Rachel smile. Quinn had seemed happy to her too but she hated to admit that she didn't spend that much time with her before this weekend. She'd always seemed pretty laid back and carefree. She'd just assumed that Quinn was a happy person. Of course she had no idea what kind of person Quinn was anymore, which she supposed was Brittany's point. Still she wouldn't admit it, she'd never admit it.

"See, I'll make a great wife. Everybody thinks so but you and Santana."

"And your dads," Brittany added quickly.

Rachel scoffed. Her dads had been mostly upset that they hadn't been invited to the wedding. They'd have taken a red eye to the moon to see their baby girl get married. The hardest part of the whole conversation with them had been trying to explain why she couldn't show them the video tape of the ceremony. Simply giving the video up would have been a healthy compromise. It would have at least dulled the sting they were feeling by being left out. Unfortunately for them Rachel had spent the entirety of the affair in a drunken stupor that she couldn't remember. Quinn had shoved the video in a drawer and Rachel hadn't even bothered to watch it. She assumed it was simply a reaffirmation of her irresponsible behavior.

"What time are you leaving today?" It was just as good a time as any to change the subject Rachel thought as she threw the question out like a fishing net.

"Our flight's at one o'clock. Santana wanted to leave earlier so she could pack but she couldn't get a seat in first class. So of course that plan went out the window."

Oh of course it did, Rachel thought. Santana couldn't fly like a normal person. On the flight out she'd complained about having to sit in the lounge with some crying kid and Rachel didn't hear the end of it for hours. Flying coach would never happen in a million years.

"She's packing once she gets home?"

Brittany nodded. "Yeah, she's got a movie starting in a few days in London. Something about spies. Then she comes home for a month before she leaves for LA for five weeks to make a sequel to that Killer Spiders movie on the Syfy channel."

Rachel had tried to watch Santana's starring role in Spiders Attack! Even on paper it sounded like a terrible idea, Santana starred as a world class scientist/ex-mercenary who led the human charge against giant killer spiders. Rachel had managed to sit through twenty minutes of the film before the whole thing had become too much for her. It seemed insane but it had been incredibly popular and now she was getting ready to make a sequel. Rachel couldn't understand it. But she'd never understood Santana's appeal. She was far and away the meanest and most spiteful person she'd ever met, yet everyone seemed to love her. Even Rachel considered her a friend.

"Great, good for her."

"With those two paychecks all we need is sixteen more trips and we'll have our house in the Hamptons paid off. Once that's done I'm finished with Vegas. If I spread the visits out I can be done in less than a year."

Rachel wondered what Quinn would think about that. From what she could tell Quinn had totally stolen Brittany's method of making money in Las Vegas and had mass produced it with her friends. Rachel had done the math and if Quinn had been right about Brittany's yearly earnings Quinn and her friends were bringing in over twenty million dollars a year. It seemed a nice easy way to make a buck and it wasn't illegal. It shouldn't have been a problem. But then again Quinn had told her friend Clev she'd been forced to fire someone named Evan. And strangely enough another guy named Evan had died. She wondered if it was the same guy.

* * *

Going back to New York seemed to be the last thing on Quinn's mind. Rachel watched as she walked around the hotel room inspecting each piece of furniture carefully, feeling the walls with her hands and inspecting the carpet. Rachel thought back to Quinn's assertation that the last hotel room had a hole in the floor and wondered if Quinn was cracking up again.

"Find anything?" She said with a mix of curiosity and worry.

Quinn shook her head. "I don't expect I will. They won't try and bug this room after I found the last one. Either that or they've done a much better job of hiding the bug. I mean I got lucky last time when I found that tiny hole in the floor."

Something in Rachel's mind seemed to click. Bugs? Holes in the floor. Someone was listening to them? What had they gotten on tape?

"Isn't it against the law for them to bug our bedroom? Who's doing this the FBI?"

Quinn nodded. "Probably. As for how legal it is for them to bug our bedroom? I couldn't tell you what's legal or not. I don't bog myself down with details. I do what's best for Quinn." She shrugged. "Well Quinn and Rachel now that we're married."

That seemed a silly thing to say but Rachel had inspected the small anarchy symbol tattooed on Quinn's finger. According to a small internet search the symbol meant that Quinn was an Anarchist. In fact a little bit of internet research revealed that all of her seemingly random tattoos had meaning. The Stars on her shoulders meant she was in a position of honor within her group. The matching stars on her knees meant she bowed to no authority, and indicated she was in a position of authority.

Rachel had been fascinated by the whole thing. She'd been online for hours searching many different pockets of information in hopes of better understanding Quinn's world. Matching the information she'd gleaned from Quinn's body with the information she'd read online had given her a better understanding of the woman she'd decided to share her life with.

According to Interpol Quinn was a wanted fugitive in Russia. Interpol stated she'd somehow managed to escape prison and high tail it to America. Due to extradition laws and Quinn being American born, extraditing her back to Russia wasn't going to happen. Quinn's tattoo of the bird with the suitcase seemed to confirm this story as true. According to the internet the tattoo meant that Quinn had in fact escaped from prison.

Rachel should have been appalled, she understood that. Guns, drugs, murder, prison breaks. Being with Quinn was simply asking for trouble. Yet something inside her had sparked when she read the information. It had been so encompassing that she'd rolled over a still sleeping Quinn and jumped her bones.

"I haven't seen any FBI agents hanging around."

Quinn nodded not bothering to turn away from the wall she was inspecting with her hand. "They're around. They're always around. Believe me. We're all constantly under surveillance and investigation. That's why it's important for you not to ask questions. The more you know the more trouble you'll get in if things go bad. I promise you if there is anything you need to know I'll tell you. Otherwise just trust that I have everything under control."

Rachel didn't doubt Quinn felt she had things under control. People like her always did. The irony lay in the fact that even though they often considered all the angles life had a way of throwing you curve balls. She'd learned that the hard way. A week ago she'd been a beloved Broadway star, now she was reviled and hated and married to a gangster. A huge curve ball.

"What happens if you get arrested and have to go inside?"

It was a fair question. In mafia movies everyone always got arrested. Sometimes they got long sentences, sometimes they got short sentences, sometimes they beat the charges but they all always got arrested.

The question finally got Quinn's attention enough to force her to turn around. She looked at Rachel with sympathetic eyes. "If I go inside I've figured out a way to have you provided for. As long as you're my wife you'll always be taken care of. As for how you chose to live your life," she shrugged. "You're free to see who you want to see as long as it ends when I get back. And provided they aren't one of my friends you're free to see who you want."

That wasn't exactly what Rachel wanted to know but she didn't press the issue. She'd never date any of Quinn's friends. Not that any of them were actually her type. Quinn wasn't even Rachel's type. Despite what Quinn did for a living she cared for her anyway. Quinn had never been a particularly nice person, that much had always been clear. But years of history had built bridges between them, and small acts of kindness had always peppered their relationship. When Finn had died Rachel had been visited by Quinn and the two of them had locked themselves in a hotel room for an entire weekend and mourned. It was something she'd never told anyone. Not even Santana and Brittany who'd both quietly seethed that Quinn hadn't made it back to Lima for the funeral. She cared for Quinn in spite of what she did for a living, in spite of who she was.

"I won't date your friends," Rachel said firmly as if to reiterate to Quinn that the possibility was off the table. She assumed Quinn already knew this but saying it aloud couldn't hurt.

Quinn nodded and turned her attention back to the wall. "I know. And they'd never date you. But who knows. Life is funny sometimes."

* * *

Quinn's friends had completely taken over the first class lounge at McCarran Airport. There were men drinking shots of Vodka and loudly playing dominoes while women chatting casually and riffled through magazines. It was always like this. Men on one side of the room, women on the other.

Rachel had decided it best to get with the program and had kept herself with the rest of the wives and girlfriends despite her desire to sit quietly by Quinn's side. Quinn had given her a wink but immediately afterward her attention had been squarely focused on a game of dominoes with Ivan. Rachel wasn't sure what the rules were to the game but she assumed they didn't involve large stacks of cash. According to Quinn's goblin tattoo she was a gambler and judging from the pile of money in front of her she was very good at it.

Rachel's new friend Mina had planted herself at Rachel's side and quietly made herself comfortable. With her status as Ekrem's girlfriend and Ekrem's status as Quinn's bodyguard Rachel assumed Mina would be one of the women she'd see on a regular basis and decided it best to play nice and befriend the woman.

Despite Quinn's assurance that Mina was friendly and would welcome her to the Vegas suite Rachel hadn't seen her once at the hotel. She hadn't seen any of the others either and when she'd asked Quinn where they were she'd been simply told, around. Rachel assumed with Quinn's black book status the others likely found places to stay that wouldn't hassle them much. In any case this hadn't seemed to effect the women's spirits in any way, most of them had seemingly been shopping. Mina was hardly dressed what Rachel would call casually. She was wearing a pair of black tights with high heeled Jimmy Cho shoes and a blouse that looked as if it cost a fortune. Sitting beside her in jeans and sneakers Rachel felt underdressed.

"Did you have a good time?"

Mina only shrugged. "Not really. Ekrem and I like to gamble but the casino wouldn't let him play so I stayed at another hotel so I could. We went to a show together and dinner but I spent most of my time alone playing the slot machines across the street. Even then they kept watching me as if I was going to rob the place."

"I don't gamble," Rachel admitted. Money wasn't something to fool around with. Her fathers had always told her that.

"You bought some nice things though right. What's the point of coming to Las Vegas if you leave with nothing?"

Rachel nodded. "I did. I went shopping. I had to go buy another dress this morning though for the funeral."

Mina shook her head with pity. "Poor Evan. Always the playboy. Everyone tells him to slow down and follow rules but he doesn't and look what happens. Shot by gang members in Harlem."

Rachel's mind jumped back to Quinn's words. Somebody shot him. We have to show our support. "What happened to him?"

Mina shrugged. "I don't know. I heard he got an important new job but then he got arrested. A few days later he's found dead in Harlem. I think the gang members shot him for moving in on their territory. Evan sold drugs. Everyone told him how dangerous it was but he didn't listen. American drug dealers are vicious. You ever watch that show The Wire? They're dangerous criminals. Especially the guys on the street corners. Most of them don't take kindly to you moving in on their corners."

Rachel had seen a couple of episodes of The Wire on HBO. She'd found it a bit too complicated and violent for her tastes. The only thing that had remotely caught her interest was the gay guy but he was the most violent person on the show.

"I seen a few episodes of that show. It was very violent."

Mina nodded. "I told Stephanie this but she says Evan has everything under control. Now he's dead and she's all alone."

"Stephanie was his girlfriend?"

"Yes. For two years they were together."

"What happens to her now?"

Mina shrugged. "If he put money away for her she'll be fine. But Evan was stubborn, I'm betting he didn't. I told her she chose wrong when she settled down with him but she liked the way he looked. Stephanie is very vain. At least if he didn't put money away for her she can find a new guy. Ivan for example. He doesn't say much and he's a very large man but Ekrem says he's smart and sends money back to the Ukraine for his mother. Any man who takes good care of his mother will take very good care of you. He'll make a good man. If Stephanie is smart she'll spend a few months in mourning but call him over to hang a shelf, or cut her grass in the meanwhile. Eventually he'll make a move. After an appropriate amount of time has passed."

"So it's okay for her to date him as long as Evan hasn't provided for her?"

"Yes. If he takes care of her when he's gone she belongs to him. Forever. She can date a new man but not any man he knows or who knew him. Like a man from the straight world will be okay. But if he provided for her in order for her to do this she'd have to move away. Out of Brooklyn and away from everyone. If he was simply in jail she'd be able to come back when he gets home but with Evan being dead if he provided for her and she dates a new man she can never come back."

Rachel's brow furrowed. "What if she did? Come back I mean?"

Mina shrugged. "She'd be forced to leave. To come back would be disrespectful to him. And nobody would be allowed to speak to her ever again." She thought it over. "She could come back to visit her family but only on important days. Nobody bothers you about that. You have to see your family. But you can't stay unless something serious happens. Somebody dies or get sick for example. We can visit you then, say hello, and offer our support. But afterwards you go away again."

Rachel frowned. "It sounds complicated."

"It's not. It doesn't happen unless a man goes away. Men always go away but if he takes care of you, you can stay. You just have to wait for him. If you don't want to wait alone you move away and come back with him when he's finished with jail. No big deal. If he doesn't take care of you, you can stay and find a new man."

"Will Ekrem provide for you?"

Mina smiled. "Yes, he provides for me. If he goes away I'll wait for him however long it takes. If he isn't going to come home ever again." She shrugged. "I'll move away. He's a good man. I don't want to disrespect him in front of his friends."

Rachel thought back to Quinn's statement that she'd found a way to provide for her if something were to go wrong. It hadn't even been a conversation. She'd just stated it with confidence and without a second thought.

"Quinn seems like she'd be a great provider."

Mina seemed to agree. "Quinn is very generous. Ekrem says he doesn't mind driving for her because he makes just as much money as all the others. And he gets to meet all the important people. She helped him find our house and gave us expensive gold silverware as a housewarming gift."

"She says she really likes Ekrem," Quinn hadn't said as much but Rachel knew it was true by the way she treated the guy.

Mina smiled. "You're very lucky. You will be very happy."

"I think so. I just don't want to do anything stupid. I don't want to make a mistake and embarrass her. I come from a different world than this. I don't know what the rules are."

"Don't worry about the rules. You're a smart girl. Not like Stephanie for example. You picked a provider. Just follow my lead and I'll make sure you don't do anything wrong."

Rachel's mind drifted back to Evan. Quinn had said she'd had to fire Evan for making a mistake and Mina was saying he'd been killed in Harlem encroaching on some drug dealer's territory. Sounds like the guy wasn't very smart. Quinn had told her the very first day in Vegas that Brittany's scheme was all about not being greedy. Not drawing attention to yourself by landing a huge payday. Poor Evan hadn't learned that lesson. She'd be much smarter than Evan and Stephanie. Much smarter.

**Again thanks for the love. I appreciate your input and hope you're enjoying the story so far. I always try to do something different than what we're all accustomed to reading. I try to write the type of stories I'd enjoy reading. I guess that's why they're all sort of weird and crazy. BTW, I know Rachel comes across as sort of unusually accepting in this story but remember, when something doesn't quite make sense I'm usually going somewhere. ~Empty Pen~**


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel's cell phone beeped and buzzed the second she turned it back on at JFK Airport. The entire world stopped when you flew but the second the plane taxied back to the arrival gate the world came to life. It had been days since she'd gotten a call but now that she was back in New York it was if the entire world had suddenly remembered her. Las Vegas was already getting fuzzy and besides the brief spurt of reporters outside the hotel and the news report where Ivan punched the photographer it was as if she had disappeared from the face of the Earth. At least it seemed that way.

The first message Rachel got was from her agent, Robin. Robin had suggested Rachel lay low when the scandal broke and as things got progressively worse she'd stopped taking Rachel's calls all together. Rachel hadn't fretted over it until Santana suggested she was getting professionally dumped. Rachel couldn't bring herself to admit it but deep down in her sad place she'd begun to worry.

Robin was all excitement today however. She'd eagerly told Rachel to call as soon as she got settled in. Rachel wasn't sure what had changed but she'd erased the message and played the next. The second message was from the Post, the third the Times. The fourth had been Robin again asking when she'd be ready to go back to work. Just like that Rachel's luck had changed.

Quinn tossed a skinny red headed guy in a bow tie a hundred dollar bill to grab the bags and the kid practically fell all over himself in an attempt to appease her. Rachel had done her best to try to ignore him but the moment she saw him manhandling her favorite black leather Anne Klein bag she practically screamed at him to be more careful. He gave her a sheepish nod and continued to work. Quinn, Ivan, Ekrem and Mina didn't seem to notice but everyone else in the airport did.

The entire airport seemed to stop and stare. Rachel briefly considered apologizing but decided against it when she noticed the small admonishment had achieved her desired result. The red head was back to working but this time he was treating her bags with much more care and concern.

"Robin says people want to hire me," Rachel said softly to Quinn. Quinn had been checking her own phone, absent mindedly ignoring the kid with the bags.

"I told you I found you a job already. Your own stage, your own show, four nights a week."

The typical Broadway show played eight times a week but Rachel didn't suspect Quinn knew that. Anyway she'd said the theatre was off Broadway. Off Broadway she could do what she wanted.

"I know. I was just telling you what Robin said."

Quinn shoved her phone in her pocket. "If I wanted to know what Robin thought about anything I'd call her and ask her. I already worked this deal out Rachel. I pushed a lot of buttons to get you this. If you don't want it tell me now."

Rachel suddenly felt as if all eyes were on her. "I didn't say anything like that. I was just making conversation. I want to do MY show. Just like we talked about."

Truth of the matter was Rachel was so used to doing other people's shows she had no idea what HER show would be about. She could find some songs to sing but having a one woman show was about more than that. She'd have to have jokes or skits or something to do in between. She'd have to find a writer, and a producer, and a staff. It would be a lot of work. A whole lot of work. But still the idea of being the headliner in her own show was too much to pass up.

"Good. Because it's all set. I pulled a lot of strings with Sugar's husband to get this done."

"Sugar?"

Quinn nodded. "Motta. Well Todesco now. She got married a few years ago."

Rachel hadn't known Sugar lived in New York. Rachel hadn't thought about Sugar Motta in years. She'd heard through the grapevine that her father Al had been caught up in some Racketeering sting a few years ago back home but something had happened and he'd avoided going to jail. Back at McKinley Sugar had always said her father wasn't in the mafia. Turns out she'd been lying.

"I didn't know she was in New York."

"She married Joey 'Peeps' Todesco."

That name struck a chord with Rachel. She'd heard the name Joey Peeps before, she was sure of it. Something about Staten Island and some sort of Labor Union.

"The guy from Staten Island?"

Quinn pulled her phone back out of her pocket. "That's him," she said as she began to punch in numbers. "They just had a baby. Peeps wants you guys to share the stage. She gets three days, you get four because you're the star."

Rachel almost groaned. Sugar had been a terrible singer. Mr. Schue had relegated her to dancing and backup singing because he was worried about her ruining the group's flow. He liked to say that everyone had an equal chance to be a star in the New Directions but it was understood that he meant everyone but Sugar. It had gotten so bad that she'd even stopped showing up half the time.

"Sounds good."

Quinn snickered. "No it doesn't. Sugar has a lot of talents but singing isn't one of them. Still it's her old man's stage, who are we to tell him what to do? Besides Peeps is an important guy."

"Thank you. For going through so much trouble."

Quinn didn't bother looking away from her phone. "Don't mention it babe. You're my wife now. I got your back."

"I appreciate it. Still it wouldn't be a bad idea to have dinner with the two of them. I haven't seen Sugar in years."

Quinn shrugged. "I'll give Peeps a call. In the meanwhile take Ivan to your place and pack up some of your stuff. I want you with me from now on."

* * *

It would have been so easy to run to the elevator, push a few buttons, and hide out in her condo behind locked doors. Being with Quinn was scary, or at least it should have been. It should have been dark and scary and intimidating but it wasn't. Somewhere deep down she felt peace, and love, and fulfillment. Somewhere deep down she felt happiness.

The ride from JFK to Manhattan was smooth, traffic was light and Rachel spent the entire time avoiding her ringing phone as the Town Car's driver stared at her from his rearview mirror. Being famous had always been strange. Occasionally some admirer would notice her in a restaurant and ask for an autograph. It didn't happen nearly as often as Rachel thought it would when she'd been a girl, but when it did it was a welcome reminder that her life had substance and accomplishment. Since she'd been back in New York it seemed everyone had been staring. Her face was famous now, not just to theatre fans but to everyone.

She'd returned Robin's phone call and received the news that her face had graced the front page of every New York paper and tabloid for days. Broadway star marries gangster girlfriend. The story had been big and according to Robin the Today Show wanted to interview her in the morning. The Today Show, and The Tonight Show were the symbols by which Rachel had judged her fame. It wasn't until she'd graced both sets that she would allow herself to be considered an actual success. Tomorrow she could make one of those dreams come true.

Quinn would be the problem. She wouldn't like the publicity. Rachel realized this as she stepped into her building and gave a polite nod to Carl the Doorman. Carl smiled politely but the look on his face held nothing but fear. Rachel had always been kind to Carl but the way the man looked at her she could tell their relationship was permanently damaged.

"Carl," Rachel said as she slipped passed him and into the building.

Carl nodded. "Mrs. Berry." His weary eyes shifted to Ivan and he opened his mouth as if to speak but snapped it shut like a trap door. The building had a strict policy about visitors signing in but Carl didn't look as if he wished to enforce that particular rule today. Instead he turned back towards the street in an attempt to ignore her.

Carl had always been polite and chatty. On a slow day Rachel would spend a few moments speaking to him about his children and his wife, his fishing trips to the Adirondack Mountains, and the 14 Foot Tiller fishing boat his father left him when he passed away. The boat was the first thing the guy talked about on an average day. 'Hey Ms. Berry, got the boat out this weekend.' Or, 'Hey Ms. Berry caught a 37lb Bass this trip out, still trying to find that 50 pounder.' The guy was a broken record, always the same thing. Today though things were different. Today he was avoiding even a look in her direction.

"Hey Carl, how's the boat?" Rachel asked without turning back but offering a look over her shoulder.

Carl turned around quickly and looked at her, his eyes not reaching her face. "Uh, fine," he said before looking away.

Something in Rachel's stomach began to spin. There was jittery nerves and there was fear. All weekend she'd been getting stares, mostly stares of amazement and awe. It wasn't much unlike the stares she'd been getting when she finished a show. Celebrity recognition, a warped sort of idol worship. This was different. Carl, a guy she'd known for years, was afraid to look in her direction. Nervous. It didn't matter what was different in her life he'd always been the same old Carl. Even when the barista video hit the internet he'd been chatty and kind. He'd gone out of his way to keep things light and casual. Normal.

The thought crept into her mind like a cat burglar sneaking in through an open window. Something was wrong. As an actress Rachel prided herself on being an astute study of human emotion and Carl's fear rubbed her the wrong way.

"Ivan," Rachel said reaching out and grabbing his forearm. "There's something wrong, let's go."

Ivan gave her a curious gaze but didn't hesitate to follow instructions and stop walking. He took a careful look around the lobby before taking a giant step backwards. Instead of running he grabbed something from the back of his shirt and tossed it into nearby trash can. Rachel spun on her heels and stepped out the door but a large black SUV pulled up to the curb with flashing lights.

"Fucking FBI," Ivan said with his thick Russian accent.

Rachel almost laughed. For just the briefest of moments she thought she'd somehow gotten mixed up in some sort of gangland hit. Gangsters in fedoras with tommy guns itching to gun her down in the streets. When she seen it was the police her heart stopped pounding enough for her to chuckle.

"Right. Fucking police," she said with a smile.

* * *

Special Agent Deena Cole was a wiry woman with a pale complexion and a poorly maintained ponytail. She was wearing the FBI uniform, a standard issue black suit with white shirt and comfortable shoes. After giving her a careful once over Rachel decided almost immediately that she was a hard-nosed career woman. She probably lived and breathed her job. Most women will at the very least spend a few hours at the salon once or twice a month. Only a woman not interested in having a social life didn't even bother to make the effort.

"Rachel," the special agent said with a smile that made Rachel uncomfortable. She slapped a tan folder on the table but didn't open it. Instead she leaned in, in an obvious attempt to make Rachel uncomfortable. Up close her pale skin looked sickly and translucent, almost as if Rachel had come face to face with the bride of Dracula.

"Agent," Rachel said in an attempt to keep things professional. She didn't care for the woman using her first name like they were old friends. She had plenty of old friends and this woman wasn't one of them.

"What did you get yourself into? You marry a gangster? In Las Vegas? What were you thinking?" She finally pulled away and made herself comfortable in a chair across the table from Rachel.

Rachel had seen enough cop movies to know that the woman was likely working some sort of angle. Usually it involved her attempting to befriend someone in Rachel's position. If not she'd be extra mean and another cop would come in later and attempt to be her friend. She'd never heard of anyone belittling you once you got in her position.

Rachel shrugged. "Am I under arrest? If I am I want a lawyer."

Agent Cole only laughed. "You're not under arrest. You haven't done anything wrong. Your government just wants to speak with you for a few minutes."

"If I'm not under arrest I'm free to go right?" Answering questions, any questions without a lawyer seemed like a terrible idea. If she'd learned anything from TV it was always ask for a lawyer straight away. Sure sometimes it made you look guilty but more often than not it kept you out of jail.

"Not exactly. You're being held pending charges. You're in what we like to call the neutral zone."

"It sounds made up. I want to talk to a lawyer," Rachel insisted. "Or call my wife."

Agent Cole frowned. "You keep asking for a lawyer but you haven't done anything." She raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Or have you?"

Rachel sighed. "I'm not interested in talking."

Agent Cole simply chose to ignore her. "Let's talk about your wife." She used air quotes when she said the word wife and the gesture rubbed Rachel the wrong way. "You two have known one another since high school. Spent some time together in the Glee club. You moved to New York, she went to Yale. You'd sneak off every couple of weeks and spend time together. Check into a hotel and play house. Then she disappears and runs off to Russia and you lose touch."

Rachel was suddenly uncomfortable with the fact that the woman hadn't been reading any of this from the file she'd brought with her. Everything she said she'd recited from memory. It was almost creepy having someone know intimate details from her life.

"God, stalk much."

Agent Cole laughed again. "A few years later you meet back up and you rekindle the old romance."

Rachel laughed. "Hardly."

Agent Cole finally opened the tan folder on the table and revealed photos of Rachel visiting Quinn at her strip club. There were dozens of them. It was very likely every visit Rachel had ever taken had been photographed and cataloged by the FBI.

"So you sneak off to meet her at the strip club. You text one another on the phone almost every day. Flirting but usually nothing too dirty. From what we gather you hadn't actually slept together in years." She tilted her head with contemplation. "Then one day you just decide to get married. What happened?"

If she was trying to get under Rachel's skin it was working.

"When can I go? Did you call my wife? My lawyer? Where's Ivan?"

Agent Cole smiled again. "Your friend Ivan is actually under arrest. Assault. He decked a reporter in front of a dozen cameras. You know technically you're an accessory."

Rachel wanted to scoff. She was hardly an accessory. Instead of saying anything she kept her mouth shut. Quinn had said she'd take care of the reporter situation. If she said she would handle it Rachel had no doubt it was handled.

"A pretty little thing like you, you can't handle jail. And the Russian mafia isn't like the Italians. They don't have the reach in American prisons. Especially not for women. You wouldn't be safe, no matter what she tells you."

Rachel steeled her nerves.

"You can help yourself by agreeing to work with us. Get yourself out of this situation. You're clearly in over your head. We can get you straightened out right away if you want. We can save you from having to go inside. I know a judge who'll annul your marriage for you. It'll be just like it never happened."

Rachel nodded in contemplation. "That's a great offer. I mean you'd be doing me a huge favor." She stroked her chin. "On the other hand maybe I should talk it over with my lawyer, or my wife. You have called them haven't you?"

Agent Cole finally stopped smiling. "You think this is a joke?"

Rachel held her nerves. "Ever see that episode of the Sopranos where the guy drags Adriana off into the woods and shoots her in the head because she was working with the FBI? If I had to choose between going to jail and getting dragged into the woods and shot in the head, I'll take jail. I'm not big on camping. Like you said I'm a pretty little thing. I imagine I'd be a hot commodity inside. Somebody wouldn't mind me giving them back rubs every night." She chuckled. "It's not like I'd have to switch teams or something."

Cole shook her head with what Rachel could only guess was annoyance. "This isn't a game Ms. Berry."

"It's Mrs. Fabray actually. Berry's my stage name now. Feel free to check with my lawyer. Or my wife. You have called them right?"

* * *

"What did you tell them?"

The question was almost insulting but Rachel understood in her line of work it would be the most important thing to Quinn. She needed security. Mentally and professionally and all niceties would be out the window until then.

"Nothing. That I wanted a lawyer."

Quinn nodded with squinted eyes. "Did you sign anything?"

Rachel wanted to laugh but knew better.

"No. I didn't sign anything, I didn't write anything. I didn't agree to anything. I asked for a lawyer, and for you."

Either what Rachel said finally appeased her or she'd decided to try again later but Quinn changed the subject. Well, almost.

"Ivan said you did good. He said you spotted the setup and gave him a chance to ditch his gun in a trash can. The cops didn't even find it. We picked it up and tossed it in the Hudson. With gun laws in New York being so tough had they found it he'd have been looking at definite jail time. At least a year, probably more with his record."

Rachel shrugged. "Carl was acting weird."

Quinn shook her head. "The doorman?"

She nodded. "He wouldn't look at me. It felt wrong. Like he was hiding from me. I don't know what it was but it made me uncomfortable."

"Did they threaten you?"

Rachel sighed. "Yes. With jail time, because of the paparazzi guy. I told her I'd take the jail time and that they should call my lawyer."

Quinn laughed. "I took care of that. I told you I would. You and Ivan are clear of that. It was a bluff."

Rachel nodded. "I know. I believed you. You told me you would take care of it so I trusted you." She gave Quinn a stern gaze. "I think you should start trusting me now. I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Quinn eyed her up suspiciously. "I don't know if I can. When we get home I'll have to get you undressed and check your body for a wire. It may take a while."

Rachel almost got upset until she saw the corners of Quinn's mouth curl into a smile.

"Well you have to be sure to do a thorough search," Rachel teased.

Quinn nodded. "Just to be safe."

Rachel agreed. "Just to be safe."


	6. Chapter 6

Rachel's lifetime goal of sitting on the Today show set turned into a complete ambush. Matt Lauer turned out to be a complete asshat and Savannah Guthrie was an airhead. Well at least she'd pretended to be an airhead before she bombarded Rachel with questions about the mafia. The entire four minute segment had been questions about Quinn's criminal past and Rachel's new life within the mafia.

"This whole mafia thing has been blown completely out of proportion. I don't know anything about the mafia. I don't know anybody in the mafia and I don't associate with anybody involved with the mafia." Rachel had been all smiles up until this point, expertly deflecting the questions with professionalism and confidence. At this point in a typical interview the host would change the subject after sensing they weren't going to get the answers they wanted.

Matt nodded with professional detachment but Savannah, intent to earn the chair she'd all but stolen from Ann Curry, kept pressing Rachel for answers. There were things in life Rachel had never cared for and arrogance and smugness was one of them.

"My sources within the FBI says you've maintained a personal relationship since college. In fact sources within the NYPD say you were arrested just last night in the company of a known Russian gangster." Rachel's first instinct was to reach out and smack the skinny host in the face. How dare she ambush her with this? She'd been promised a clean segment, fun and light, daytime fare. Instead she'd gotten an interrogation.

Rachel knew that in a previous life Savannah had been a lawyer but she hadn't been expecting that lawyer to poke her head out of the daytime sand today. Today was supposed to be about showing the world she wasn't a lunatic. That HAD been the plan until Savannah decided to earn her stripes by putting Rachel's head on a pike outside the Today Show studio.

"That was a misunderstanding. I was questioned and released. No charges were filed," Rachel said with hesitance.

"But is he a gangster?" Savannah asked with an obviously phony smile. "Be honest. He has an extensive criminal record doesn't he?"

Rachel shrugged. "I couldn't tell you. I don't know what people do when they aren't with me."

"What about the accusation that you've maintained a personal relationship with Quinn Fabray over the years," Matt Lauer asked with his phony TV smile? Great now Matt was ganging up on her too.

Rachel's heart began to pound and her palms began to sweat.

"We've known each other since we were fourteen. We were friends. Friends can talk to each other whenever they want last time I checked." Rachel's tone had sharpened considerably and Savannah's TV smile widened. Matt, the consummate professional only nodded.

"Of course but," Savannah started again.

"But what? I'm supposed to cut somebody out of my life because some dickhead in a suit says they're the bad guy? The FBI can kiss my ass. I'll spend as much time with whoever I want whenever I want and I don't need anybody's permission."

Matt tried to ease things but his smug confidence only infuriated Rachel more. How dare these assholes drag her down here in an attempt to break her? She wasn't going to let them win, not ever. Not some two bit daytime show that focused on cooking segments and weather reports.

"Well it seems you have some firm views, lets switch gears," Matt said with impressive focus. He'd finally seemed to have gotten the message and something in Rachel's belly tried to ease.

"Let's," Rachel said not bothering to hide the annoyance in her tone.

"It's been said you've got a pretty short fuse," Savannah said apparently deciding she wasn't going to let up.

Rachel's mind went blank and something inside her shut down. "You wanna see how short you skinny bitch? Keep this up."

* * *

"Jesus Christ Rachel, NBC is going to ban you. You'll never get back on the network again. What were you thinking?" Robin had been irate all morning and every attempt to talk her down had been unsuccessful. Of course once Rachel caught a replay of her freak out on CNN she knew Robin was right. She'd lost her cool.

"What was I supposed to do, she baited me? She did that on purpose. You should have seen them, they went out of their way to rile me up. Even during the commercial breaks she kept whispering nasty stuff to me to get me all worked up."

Savannah Guthrie was a total bitch, everyone knew that. Rachel had been nothing but professional but she'd been ambushed and humiliated by the Today Show hosts. Nothing she'd done up until the last few seconds of the interview could be considered her fault. Not one iota of it, but she'd taken the blame anyway.

"You don't freak out on live TV. You don't tell the FBI to kiss your ass, and you don't threaten the host of the Today Show and call her a skinny bitch," Robin wasn't happy but despite the fiasco her phone hadn't stopped ringing. If a few people wanted interviews yesterday, everyone wanted one today.

"I told you, you missed all the ugly stuff they were doing. They edited half of what they did to me out so they wouldn't look bad and I'd look like I was crazy. I'm the victim here."

Robin sighed. "Rachel you ARE married to a gangster. Quinn is on the Interpol website for everyone to see. She's wanted all over Eastern Europe for a litany of crimes. Trying to say that the mafia doesn't exist isn't going to work. She's clearly a criminal. Maybe you should just tell the truth."

Rachel scoffed. "What truth?"

"That you've been maintaining a relationship with her for years. Tell the truth. That you fell in love with her when you were young and that doesn't go away because of what she does for a living. I can hire you a crisis manager to handle the PR. This is an easy fix, you just have to address it head on."

"We haven't maintained a relationship for years. That's all lies. We barely see one another. The FBI is lying to everyone."

"They have photos Rachel. Text messages. Hotel receipts. Why are you denying this? The truth is actually better for you. If you've been together for years it's not as strange that you'd love her in spite of what she does for a living." Robin was using her tough sell face but Rachel decided she didn't care.

"I don't know what you're talking about. They're obviously fakes."

Robin nodded. "Fine. Have it your way."

* * *

Rachel sipped on her third glass of wine while Quinn flipped through the TV. She'd been gone for the better part of the day and despite Rachel's professional crisis Quinn hadn't made herself available for encouragement. She'd come home from her strip club smelling like stripper oil and scotch and hopped immediately into the shower. Afterwards she'd climbed into bed beside Rachel and turned on the TV without saying any more than 'Hey babe', and offering a kiss on the cheek.

"Did you see it?" Rachel finally asked. The video had been all over TV all day. Rachel had always wanted to be a household name but not this way. Today she'd just made herself a media star but not in the way she'd always envisioned. Everyone knew her name today and despite her desire for it to all go away things had only gotten progressively worse.

Quinn nodded, her eyes not leaving the TV. "I saw it, you looked great."

Rachel wanted to scream. Quinn never bothered to comment on the terrible things that went on. She'd always found something encouraging to say. That was why Rachel liked her so much. When things got bad she'd always managed to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

"What about that interview? I think I'm going to get banned from NBC because of that stupid Savannah Guthrie. She ambushed me and attacked me with all these meaningless questions about us. Then she spouted all those lies from the FBI."

Quinn didn't bother responding. She flipped through her channels aimlessly as if the whole thing was boring her. Rachel didn't bother getting upset she'd expected as much from Quinn, instead of getting angry or offended she kept complaining.

"They had all these doctored photos of me visiting you in the strip club. I mean I've only legitimately been to that place three or four times but they have dozen of photos that they faked to make it look like I was there all the time."

Quinn finally nodded but still didn't look at her. "Oh, yeah?"

"YES. And then they said that we spent all this time together in hotels back in college. I mean we did when Finn died but that was just us mourning you know. But they're trying to say we did it like every weekend. That we were having some sort of affair. It's totally crazy." Rachel shook her head with annoyance. "And don't even get me going about the phone calls."

Quinn's head finally snapped to attention and whipped around to face Rachel. "What phone calls?"

"Our text messages. That Special Agent Cole said we've been texting each other for years. She claimed it was all sexy in nature."

Quinn's emotionless green eyes squinted and she gave Rachel a glare. "You didn't think to tell me that last night Rachel? If the government is up on my phone I need to know that."

Rachel sighed. "How am I supposed to know what I'm supposed to tell you? Everybody knows you aren't supposed to talk business on the phone." She shook her head and smacked her lips. "You're already supposed to know what you're doing. You shouldn't need me to tell you what you're doing."

Quinn groaned. "I do know what I'm doing. That doesn't mean you aren't supposed to tell me that sort of stuff. God Rachel, you'd have thought we haven't talked about this a million times. We have an agreement."

"That I don't ask questions," Rachel said smugly. "That I don't need to know things."

Quinn nodded. "That doesn't mean I don't need to know everything. This isn't a game Rachel no matter what sort of shenanigans you're pulling in your head. I need to know everything." She pushed herself out of bed and grabbed her pillow as she headed towards the door. "And for the record that isn't the agreement I'm talking about."

"Where are you going?" Rachel yelled as she walked towards the door.

"To sleep in the other room."

Rachel's heart began to pound. "Get back in here. Come get back in bed. You can't just walk away when you get upset. That's not how marriage is supposed to work. That's not how THIS marriage is going to work."

Quinn shrugged.

Rachel started to panic, she didn't do all of this so Quinn could just give up at the first sign of trouble. "Get back here Quinn. We had a deal!"

Quinn laughed. "Oh NOW you want to remember the deal?"

Rachel wanted to scream and yell but she noticed almost immediately that Quinn had stopped walking. She had threatened to walk out but she hadn't. She never would. Not ever.

"Come back to bed."

Quinn stared at her with emotionless green eyes. "Fine. But take off your clothes first. I want sex tonight."

Rachel downed her glass of wine and poured herself another. "Sure thing Mrs. Fabray."

* * *

Seven times. That was the number Rachel remembered. Seven times that she'd been to Quinn's strip club. And it had been more than three months since she'd last visited. She couldn't be hanging out at some strip club in Brooklyn. She was a famous Broadway actress.

The front page of the New York Post made her want to scream. She graced the paper's front page along with a photo of Quinn. They were having dinner at some restaurant with another man that the paper identified as Joey 'Peeps' Todesco. Sugar's husband.

According to the paper Joey Peeps got his name because he used to make all his money from the old Peep Show booths in Times Square before the Mayor shut them all down. He'd turned to Pornography next and according to The Post, prostitution. He looked at least ten years older than Sugar but he was a handsome man, a manly man.

Rachel didn't remember taking the photo and assumed it was another doctored picture from the FBI used to not only sabotage her career but to discredit Quinn and possibly lock her up. Her marriage was unconventional sure, dangerous of course, but it was hers and she wouldn't let anyone stand in the way of it. The entire world had turned against her, even Santana and Brittany weren't on her side anymore. It was all because of her relationship with Quinn. Well if that was the way they were going to treat her she'd just play the role written for her.

If they say she'd held a long time affair with Quinn since college? Fine. It was true then. In fact she'd go one step further and say high school. After Quinn's accident she'd say she'd gone over to her house one day, then another, and another, and another. Why not, what difference did it make now?

If they wanted to say Quinn was a gangster, there was nothing she could do to change their minds. Why even bother? She'd never admit it but she wasn't going to shout 'No' from the rooftops anymore. They want to accuse her of being a drug dealing, gun running gangster, fine. They want to say she broke out of some Russian Gulag. Whatever. Maybe Rachel even helped bribe the guards through a bunch of shady phone calls and bags of cash. None of it mattered. Not really. People believed what they wanted to believe. There was nothing she could do to change that. All she could do was embrace it. Wholeheartedly and completely.

* * *

FBI Field Office Manhattan New York:

Special Agent Deena Cole's eyes widened when the computer tech came into the room with the flash drive. She'd assumed getting the footage from the wedding chapel was a long shot but the good thing about computers was nothing was ever lost. A few subpoena and a bit of brain power and you could find almost anything if you knew where to look.

"Tell me you have it?" Cole asked with a grin.

Agent Miller nodded, his shaggy blonde hair far from regulation but the bosses cut all the computer guys a little slack. They knew that with most of their skills they could be someplace else making millions of dollars and living on a beach. If they were constantly harassed about their hair, or any other personal quirks they managed to express in the office, they'd likely go and do just that.

"Got it, you were right. They didn't think twice about cleaning it up before they left town," Miller said with a nod.

Cole pumped her fist in the air. "Told you. Fabray thinks of everything. I thought I had my crack in the foundation with Berry's bodyguard popping that photographer but the guy wants nothing to do with us. We don't need his cooperation to press charges but without him we'd barely get the bodyguard on assault."

Miller tilted his head and nodded. "Fabray sent a brand new camera to the photographer's daughter at school along with a note for her dad. As threats go it's pretty blatant but not blatant enough to warrant a charge. If anybody says anything she can just claim she was apologizing, which she could attest to with the note."

Cole had been over the case with a fine tooth comb looking for a way to bring Fabray down but realized right away that it was a loser. If anything Ivan the bodyguard would plead out and end up with a few weeks in county or very likely probation. Pursuing it was a waste of time, not to mention the case wasn't federal, it was local and the locals didn't want gangsters anywhere close to Las Vegas, not even if it was just to put them in jail.

"Let's see what's on this thing," Cole said stifling her excitement.

Miller was already at a computer working his magic and when he looked up at Cole with curious eyes she knew what the question on the tip of his lips would be. Still, he asked anyway.

"What are you expecting to find on this thing anyway?"

Cole shrugged. She wasn't sure what she expected to find but her meeting with Rachel Berry-Fabray had piqued her interest. Berry was a bit too comfortable in the box, a bit too sure of herself. Normal people, regular citizens, sweat bullets when faced with the prospect of meeting with the FBI. Berry was the complete opposite. She adamantly requested a lawyer, disregarded the proof laid in front of her, and scoffed at the prospect of doing time.

"I don't know, anything that gives me an insight into these two. I don't quite get it."

Miller pulled away from the work station he'd commandeered and looked towards a nearby TV. "You can't help who you fall in love with."

Cole knew this to be true. She'd been burned herself, her last boyfriend had turned out to be using her in hopes of gleaming useful information from her to sell to criminals out on the streets. Cole had personally arrested him and afterwards had relegated herself to building her career. Dating wasn't in the cards, at least not anytime soon.

The video began with Berry screaming.

"I'm getting married Bitches!"

Fabray ignored her excitement as Ekrem her monster of a bodyguard looked on. Elvis' 'Are you lonesome tonight', began to play and Berry began to sing along.

She sang for a few minutes and even drunk Cole had to admit she had a wonderful voice, there was no surprise she was a Broadway star, she was extremely talented. When she finally stopped singing she looked over at Fabray with raised eyebrows.

"Aren't you glad I told you we were coming to Vegas?"

Fabray nodded. "I am, you're the one who didn't want anyone to know you told me."

"I have to look out for myself. We made a deal remember. We'd always be there to help each other. I've more than held up my end. If I hadn't you'd be rotting in a Russian prison still."

Fabray chuckled. "How long are you going to hold that over my head?"

Berry laughed, a drunken maniacal laugh. "I don't know, twenty five years. Or life, depending on your good behavior."

Fabray looked around. "Do you call getting married in Las Vegas looking out for yourself? Everybody is going to find out about this. Our friends, our families. Your parents. Your fans. It's going to kill your career."

Berry shrugged. "They hate me anyway. It doesn't matter anymore. God forbid you get a little bit angry and yell and somebody, all of a sudden your Russell Crowe."

Fabray looked around. "If we do this, things change. Forever. No more living apart, no more sneaking around. It's you and me. And I make the rules from now on."

Berry shrugged. "I don't care about that. I'm in. I'm all in. Isn't that what they say in Las Vegas? I'm all in?"

Fabray shrugged this time. "I don't know, they don't let me in the casinos."

"I'll go and gamble for you."

Quinn shook her head. "No, if you do they'll ban you too. Just marry me and we'll figure out the rest later."

"Fine. I want to go back to the room after this and celebrate. But the hotel guy said they had to fix the TV."

Fabray's eyes widened. "What hotel guy?"

"The guy with the leather shoes and the push cart. When I went back up to get my purse he was fixing the TV."

Fabray looked over her shoulder at her hulking bodyguard and shook her head. "FBI?"

He shrugged. "Probably. We should search room in morning. Check for bugs."

Berry started to pout. "I don't want to talk about this. Let's get married, then we can go celebrate."

Cole sighed, the rest of the video was standard Vegas wedding fare. The bureau had been curious how Fabray had found the bug buried in the floor of the hotel room. Looks like they had their answer.

"Looks like Agent Adams didn't handle it so well after all," Miller said with a smirk. When Berry had found Agent Adams in their hotel suite he'd swore to anyone who'd listen that he hadn't been made. Seems his leather shoes had said otherwise.

"I knew there was something off about Berry. I want copies of this video made and sent out to every agent on the task force. Find out if what she said about Fabray's jail break holds up and if it does tell me how Berry pulled it off. Start a file on Berry, dig into her background. Deep into her background. If she and Fabray passed notes in high school I want to know about it."

Miller nodded. "I'm on it."

Cole smiled with pride. For a moment she thought she'd just lost her touch. Being dismissed by Berry had stung her pride a bit but that self-doubt disappeared immediately when she watched the video. Berry wasn't an innocent wife like she made herself out to be. She was an actress. An actress playing the role of innocent wife.

"I'm going to put in a request to go where it all started. Lima Ohio. I want to find this Mr. Shuester. He would have to be able to tell me something about these two."

Miller shrugged. "It's been years, he may not remember anything."

Cole smiled again. "He'll remember them. You have an international criminal. A Broadway Star, A Movie Star, A genius mathematician. All in the same class. He'll definitely remember them." She looked up back at the criminal pyramid board that showed the structure of the Khimki Brava, the Russian gang Fabray belonged to. She was on the second rung of the pyramid one step below the gang's leader Clev. Fabray was very high up on the chart. If something happened to Clev she'd be next in line to take over. Berry's picture had been off to the side with the other wives and girlfriends. Cole walked over to it and moved it to the Board and pinned it beside Fabray.

"The FBI can kiss my ass. Well now she's fair game," Cole said with nod. Miller only nodded before turning on his heels and walking away.

**Okay, Yes. Rachel is willfully lying to herself. And yes. That's where I'm ending it. Now before anybody gets upset the signs are all there. Some of you even pointed them out. Rachel's story doesn't make sense. Not even the story she tells herself in her head. The facts don't add up. I read once, or saw on TV I don't remember. That women who are married to career criminals willfully deceive themselves about the things that aren't quite right with their lives. They ignore the facts staring them right in the face. For instance, Rachel hears with her own ears that Quinn 'fired' Evan, the guy who put the casino plan at risk. But when Mina talks about Evan Rachel doesn't even consider that Quinn killed him. Sure there may be a few questions but in her mind the two don't even relate. And as far as Rachel herself, she's always been delusional. Think back to her Glee club quitting tantrums. Everybody is against me, everybody is holding me back! She's self absorbed and will do anything to get what she wants (sending Sunshine to a crackhouse) and in this case she wanted Quinn. Did it require lying to herself? Sure. Are the signs there? Of course. In the second chapter Quinn tells Rachel they're in love and Rachel goes delusional. Quinn's response? Ignore her. That's always Quinn's response when Rachel is being delusional. Ignore her. Read again and notice, even their first meeting by the pool is tongue in cheek, at least on Quinn's end. There's more signs there but the fun is finding them. Anyway thanks for reading and I'll begin something else soon. Be sure to tell me what you think, even if its to say I suck. I don't mind. really I don't. ~Empty Pen~ **


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